


The Door to Nowhere

by incapricious



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mind Control, Prison, Suicide, pre-HBP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-25
Updated: 2006-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucius is in Azkaban, deprived of his memories, not knowing who or where he is.  Arthur Weasley needs information from him, and forces Lucius to face the realities of his imprisonment, his past, and his future.  Both men want something, and both will stop at nothing to get what they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Door to Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2006 Merry Smutmas exchange. A million thanks to waterbird for major editing help.

It had been a long time since the door had last opened -- so long that he hadn't even remembered that it was there. His world was made of four grey walls, one grey floor, and a narrow but infinite darkness above. To him it had always been so.

When part of a wall disappeared one day, a piece of his universe vanished. He stared at the rectangle of darkness, trying to understand what it meant. There had been something there before, and now there was nothing. How was that possible? Where had it gone? Could he follow the something and also become nothing?

A shape appeared in the empty void, blocking the darkness with brown robes, worn leather boots, red hair, and hands with long, twitching fingers. He tilted his head to one side, studying the change in his surroundings. It was a man. He supposed he should have known what it meant to have a wall replaced by a man, but he didn't. If he thought about it long enough, perhaps he would work it out.

"Lucius Malfoy. Stand and come with me."

The man tried to make his voice commanding, but Lucius heard the fear and uncertainty underneath, like water flowing under a frozen river in spring; it was only a matter of time before the thinning surface cracked. Weakness was opportunity. He didn't know how or why he knew that, but it was true. Lucius bared his teeth, stood, and walked out of his world and into the unknown.

\---

"Sit down." Arthur Weasley pointed to a small stool in the centre of the otherwise empty room. Lucius observed Arthur's hand shaking and suppressed a smile. He sat obediently, his hands bound behind his back, something his visitor -- interrogator? -- had seen to soon after leaving the cell.

Arthur stood over him, arms crossed. "I am here to get information. You are expected to cooperate fully."

Lucius stared blankly at Arthur, attempting to look vacuous; Arthur's stricken look told him he had succeeded.

"Do you know who I am?"

Lucius made no reply, but in truth he had remembered Arthur Weasley at the same time that he had remembered everything else. He had crossed through an unseen plane of magic just outside this room and the reality of his situation -- lifetime imprisonment, permanent separation from his wife and son, an indelible stain on his family name -- had hit him with the weight of a dead Hippogriff. He remembered his early time in Azkaban, the anguish and terror of the Dementor patrols. He remembered the moment when the suffocating presence of those creatures had disappeared, and his jubilation at what that meant. He remembered the bitterness of waiting for a freedom that never came. He even remembered the day he stopped remembering anything. How long had it been since then? How long had he been locked away from his own mind?

He needed information. But it had to be acquired carefully; this could be his only chance.

Arthur frowned and looked at each wall in turn. "I thought this room was protected from the _Memoria Occultus_ net," he murmured. He conjured a lopsided, rickety-looking wooden chair and then tucked his wand into an inner pocket near his left hip. He sat; Lucius was disappointed when the chair didn't collapse.

"I could wait a few minutes, I suppose. Considering the number of years you've been here, it could just take a bit of time to wear off," Arthur said, rubbing absently at his chin.

The two men waited. Arthur became more and more agitated with each passing second, muttering to himself and looking at his bare wrist, as though checking a watch that wasn't there. Lucius studied him carefully, assuming his blatant staring would be put down to the natural curiosity of a man who knew nothing. Arthur didn't look well. Not that he had ever looked well, but this was worse than his usual slovenly state. From the bags under his eyes and his sallow skin, Lucius would guess that he hadn't slept in days.

He had just begun to fantasize about the possible reasons for Arthur's distress when Arthur stood up and walked to the door.

"I don't have time for this. I can't believe after all my planning, I--" He paused and turned back, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Get up. You're going back to your cell."

Lucius had no intention of leaving this room, of going back out there, where he would all but disappear. It was time to end his charade. He closed his eyes and made his body shudder violently. Drawing a gasping breath, he stood and mustered his face into his most disgusted expression. It wasn't hard: he just recalled how he had felt when he had remembered who Arthur was, and his body responded naturally.

"Arthur. How kind of you to drop by."

\---

Within a few minutes, Lucius had acquired a great deal of interesting information. None of it had come from the mouth of Arthur Weasley, of course. No, everything Arthur had said had been a lie … but his non-verbal reactions to Lucius' questions had been telling. One of his children was dead -- possibly more than one. He and his wife were barely speaking to one another. Most importantly, he was not here in official Ministry capacity. Certainly, he had tried his best to pretend that this was an official interrogation, but his explanation for his presence had been absurd. Did he really expect Lucius to believe that they would send a lone wizard from the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office -- or whatever ridiculously-named department Arthur had claimed to represent -- to interrogate a Death Eater? Moreover, did Arthur think that Lucius would accept as truth that the Ministry had run out of Veritaserum, even temporarily?

No, Arthur wanted something from him. More than that, he needed something from him. Lucius could only hope that whatever it was, it was worth a great deal to Arthur. Enough to take an enormous risk, enough to allow Lucius to get near that left pocket and the wand within it. And once he had that wand, he was going to break Arthur Weasley and take back the life that he deserved.

Lucius smiled softly. He was going to enjoy this.

"Ah, there's that Malfoy smirk of yours. The one that always makes me want to punch you in the mouth."

"Come now, Arthur. That's no way to speak to someone who has information you want. Information you need so desperately, you were willing to … what, bribe several guards to let you into Azkaban? I'm surprised you could afford it. Although I suppose money isn't as tight now that there are fewer mouths to feed."

He had expected Arthur to come flying at him, to knock him to the ground, robes flying, wand exposed. Instead, he laughed. The sound was cold and ugly.

Definitely more than one, Lucius thought.

"Is that the best you can do? Locked up in here for … what has it been? Eight years? Nine? And all you can do is mock me for being poor? Pathetic. I don't know how you knew about Ginny and Fred," his face twisted grotesquely as he said their names, "but at least I have a family, even if … even if it is missing--"

He stopped talking abruptly and scrubbed his hands over his face. "No. I have to stay focused." He stood and approached Lucius. "Tell me about the painting in your library."

Lucius' heart began to pound. "I'm sure I don't know which painting you are referring to. The Malfoys own many works of art, several of which are on display in the library."

"Well … it's a still life of pears sitting in a golden bowl. It looks very lovely, but it has a nasty curse on it. No idea why it wasn't discovered in one of the earlier raids, but there we are. One of … one of our employees was attempting to remove the artwork from the premises and … he is now in St Mungo's. Unconscious. Wasting away. The Healers have no idea what to do."

"And you believe that I will? Fascinating. I'm not certain I recall that particular painting. Tell me more about the exact circumstances under which this curse was triggered." Lucius kept his voice calm even though the situation had unexpectedly turned against him. He knew that painting very well -- it had been in his family for centuries. Only when it no longer belonged to one of Malfoy blood would the curse be activated. What had become of Draco?

"Scholars were … cataloguing the new Ministry acquisitions. The Malfoy estate belongs to the Ministry of Magic now. That stings, doesn't it? Everything your family worked to build over the centuries is gone."

Lucius longed to ask about his son. Was he also imprisoned? Was he dead? But to reveal that he cared would be a critical mistake. He would bide his time. He had to regain control of the situation. He shrugged casually.

"What makes you believe that I am concerned with such things?"

"You must be joking. What makes me think that you're concerned with matters of family pride, wealth, and power? I believe that would be: everything you've ever said and everything you've ever done. How's that?"

"Ah, but perhaps my time behind bars has taught me that there are more important things in life. No man could be within these walls and remain unchanged."

"I've always thought that would be the case, but you don't seem to have changed a bit. For example, not only have you not answered my question about the painting, you have also managed to steer the conversation away from the subject of the painting entirely. No, don't try to explain yourself. You can equivocate all you want once you're back in your cell. All I want from you is an answer to this: what do you know about the painting of the pears in the golden bowl, which is located in the library of what was formerly known as Malfoy Manor?"

Lucius studied Arthur for a moment. The man had changed. Gone was the naïve optimist who had so irked Lucius in his younger years. Lucius wondered if Arthur's opinion of Muggles had changed as well. Likely not: once a blood traitor, always a blood traitor.

"It's not just some faceless Ministry worker wasting away in St Mungo's, is it? It's someone you care about. A son, perhaps?"

Arthur's body tensed. He stared at Lucius, perhaps trying to discern the intent behind the question. "Yes," he answered finally. "It's Bill. My eldest."

He had him now; he was practically in the palm of his hand. "I see. How unfortunate. What are you prepared to give me in exchange for my information?"

"So then … you do know something?" Arthur wasn't even trying to hide his enthusiasm. Perhaps he hadn't changed so much after all.

"It is -- was -- my house. It would hardly be acceptable for me to possess a cursed artefact and not know the details of its magic, would it?"

Arthur exhaled a ragged breath and put his head in his hands. His shoulders shook briefly, and when he sat up there were tears streaking down his cheeks. "I would … be very grateful to you if you would tell me how to help Bill. I can't lose another one … I can't. Molly wouldn't survive it."

Ridding the world of more members of the Weasley clan did not seem such a terrible thing to Lucius -- in fact, he considered it highly desirable. If he could find a way out of Azkaban without giving up what he knew, so much the better. But he would help them if he had to.

"Your gratitude is of no value to me. What else are you willing to give to save your son?"

"I would give anything," Arthur said, and Lucius felt a surge of triumph. It must have shown on his face, because Arthur's eyes widened in alarm. "That is, anything that's mine to give. I can't break you out of here. Don't ask me to do that. There are guards just out there, and … God help me, I think I might do it if I could, but I'd end up in the cell next to you, or worse."

Lucius looked Arthur over, studying the location of his wand. His robes were open, worn like a long coat, exposing his trousers and shirt. His wand, haphazardly tucked into an inside pocket, was hidden but tantalizingly close. If he could just make physical contact with it, even for a few seconds, then he should be able to pull his magic through it. Arthur wouldn't suspect until it was too late.

There was only one way Lucius could think of that would get him inside of Arthur's robes at hip level. He wasn't even going to have to dance around the subject before suggesting it. 'Anything that's mine to give,' Arthur had said. This certainly qualified.

"Allow me to suck your cock, and I will tell you exactly how to break the curse that is killing your son."

Arthur coughed. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, allow me--"

"No, don't say it again," Arthur said, shielding his face with his hand. "I heard you the first time. I'm just, er, surprised. Gobsmacked, really. It didn't even cross my mind to imagine that you would ask for …." He completed his sentence with a wordless gesture towards his groin area.

Lucius shrugged, his mind whirling over possible explanations for his request, trying to determine which one would arouse the least suspicion. "It is … a weakness of mine. A fetish, if you will, that I do not -- did not -- often indulge in. But, given that you are my first visitor, and likely also my last, it seems prudent to take advantage of the situation and give in to the urge one final time." He sighed, inwardly steeling himself for what he was about to do.

"Well, I'm relieved it's not that you've secretly fancied me all these years," Arthur said, his voice tinged with hysteria. "Although I wouldn't have believed that anyway." He laughed nervously. "I don't mean to give you ideas, but I'm glad you didn't ask for the reverse. You know..."

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "You did say _anything_." He waited for the panic to appear on Arthur's face before continuing. "No, I can self-gratify as much as I desire in the privacy of my prison. But reducing another man to incoherent cries of pleasure … now that is something I have missed, something I have not been able to do in a long time."

Arthur's cheeks flushed pink, but he did not speak, nor did he make eye contact with Lucius. Was he still wavering? Perhaps he just needed a little push -- a reminder of why he was here.

"All you have to do is be the recipient of pleasure, and your son will live. It's that simple."

Arthur licked his lips, then stood and began to unbuckle his belt. "Mind you, I don't want to do this. You are a disgraceful man. But, for Bill …." His robes flapped open as he stood, briefly exposing the hilt of his wand. He dropped his trousers and his pants to the floor, then looked at Lucius as if awaiting instructions. Weak, so weak.

"Back against the wall," said Lucius, standing, "and we will begin."

It was almost comical watching Arthur shuffle backwards with his trousers around his ankles, his penis dangling out in the open. When he reached the wall, he pinned each side of his open robes to the wall with his hands, no doubt to keep the cloth out of Lucius' way. Unfortunately, this also kept the wand out of Lucius' way. He'd have to make this good.

With a few quick steps and a bend of the knees, Lucius was kneeling before Arthur. He exhaled sharply, then took Arthur's flaccid length into his mouth, sucking gently. Once he felt it begin to swell, he pulled back and blew a stream of air over the moistened skin. The cock pulsed, moving slightly with every beat of Arthur's heart as it slowly rose up to meet its fate. Its nest of red hair disgusted Lucius. It reminded him that this was Arthur Weasley. But then he thought of freedom, and of revenge. To an outside observer it may have looked like he was subservient to Arthur, bound and kneeling before him, but in reality he was in control. He smiled and slid the cock back into his mouth. When he flicked his tongue over the underside, he heard Arthur sigh.

Lucius slowly built up a rhythm, moving the cock in and out of his mouth. It was awkward, not being able to brace himself with his hands. He wondered for the first time whether his plan would succeed. If Arthur did not enjoy himself adequately, he would not let his guard down. This entire ordeal could be for nothing. Distracted by his thoughts, Lucius accidentally grazed the underside of Arthur's cock with his teeth. Arthur moaned and thrust into him.

Well, that was interesting.

He sucked roughly on Arthur, using his teeth on the shaft, and again was rewarded with a moan. He did it again and again, feeling the other man's arousal building. He tasted salt.

Dry hands grabbed him on either side of his head, forcing him to move faster and faster. Arthur pulled at Lucius' head, thrusting deeper, almost choking him. Harsh, ragged breathing was punctuated by the slick sound of lips sliding over skin.

"Look at that," growled Arthur. "Lucius Malfoy is sucking my cock. Do you like that, Lucius? Do you like taking it from me? I'll bet you do, you dirty whore. Look at you … on your knees … hands tied back."

Lucius took his rage and disgust and tucked it neatly away for later. He focused on using his tongue and lips, with the occasional hint of teeth, while Arthur pounded into him harder and harder, hitting the back of his throat with each thrust. The rapid movement made him dizzy, and Arthur's hands were squeezing his head with surprising strength, holding it still while he thrust.

"Take that, Malfoy. You cocksucker. Take it all. Choke on it. I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," Arthur moaned.

With no warning, a flood of bitterness washed into Lucius' mouth. Arthur grabbed Lucius' hair tightly, jerking his hips forward with small, sharp motions. When they subsided, Lucius felt the grip on his hair disappear. He swallowed and pulled his mouth away. It was time.

With a soft sigh that he hoped passed for contentment, he burrowed his head under Arthur's robe, feeling the protrusion of a hip bone at his cheek. When he felt the solid coolness of wood on his right temple, he opened his mind, feeling for a connection with the wand. Power flowed into him. He was alive again. Arthur touched the back of his head.

"What are you--?"

"_Imperio_."

The hand on the back of his head fell away.

\---

The first thing Lucius did, after commanding Arthur to release the bonds on his wrists, was appropriate the wand. He spent a moment simply holding it, feeling the subtle pulse of magic course through him -- something he used to take for granted.

Lucius transfigured his wooden stool into a comfortable chair with a matching hassock. He relaxed into the firm green velvet cushions while Arthur stood against the wall staring at nothing, his trousers still around his ankles, his withered penis hanging limply.

"Put your clothing back on. You disgust me," said Lucius. "And sit down. No, after you've put on your trousers. Idiot."

Once Arthur was clothed and seated, Lucius transfigured his shoes into shackles. They weren't necessary, but he wanted Arthur to have that small visceral reminder of his circumstances.

"Would you like to know why I've never bothered with Veritaserum? Because the Imperius Curse is so much more effective. Veritaserum may compel a man to tell the truth, but _Imperio_ can make him want to tell it. You want to tell me the truth, and will tell me the truth, whatever I ask."

"Nothing would please me more."

"That's a good boy. Tell me, is someone scheduled to come into this room to fetch you at a pre-appointed time, or after a certain number of hours have elapsed?"

Arthur shook his head. "No. No one is coming to get me. No one knows I'm here."

"No one? Not even the guards?"

"There are no guards."

"No Dementors?"

"The Dementors are all gone," Arthur said, in the same tone of voice he might normally have used to converse about the weather. "We killed them all. They sided with Voldemort and had to be destroyed. We use magic to guard this place now. There is a mind-suppression spell, so the prisoners don't remember who they are or where they are. Guards visit once a week to check on things and replenish the food supplies."

"Earlier, you said there were guards; you said that was why you couldn't help me escape."

"Yes. That was a lie."

Lucius was impressed. He hadn't thought Arthur capable of competent subterfuge.

"I see. It seems there is a rather large flaw in this security system. What's to stop someone from coming to the island and letting the prisoners escape?"

"Anyone who comes into the prison falls under the _Memoria Occultus_ spell; they forget who they are and why they came. The first few months after Azkaban switched to this system, the guards would find intruders on every visit. They'd be wandering the corridors, sitting on the floor, lost. They were given cells of their own for their crime. Now, the guards find no one."

"Yet, you came here, and retained your mind."

"I have the counter-spell that the guards use."

Those fools at the Ministry, Lucius thought. Had they honestly believed such a system could be secure? Escape would be so easy. But first, he needed to know about his family.

"Is my son Draco here in Azkaban?"

"No."

A cold dread trickled down the back of his neck. He almost didn't want an answer to the next question.

"Is he dead?"

"No."

Relief swept over Lucius in a wave. "Very good. Very, very good." Lucius knew that Draco had followed in his footsteps; his son had surely made a fine Death Eater. Still, he had to make certain. "Do you know where he is?" he asked. If Draco had not been captured or killed, he must be in hiding. Perhaps he had sought refuge with one of their distant relatives in Europe.

"Yes. He's in London," Arthur said. Lucius could have sworn he saw a glint of cruelty in his eyes. "He lives in a flat with Harry Potter. They--"

"What?" Lucius sat forward in his chair, gripping the wand tightly.

"He lives in a flat with Harry Potter. They're in love."

"You are mistaken. My Draco would never do such a thing. He … what makes you think they are … involved?" Surely there was a rational explanation for this.

"It all started years ago. My family, including Harry, was living at … in a house in London during the war. Draco lived there too, once he switched sides. One day, I--"

Lucius stood up and pointed his wand at Arthur. "You are lying to me. I forbid you from lying to me. Draco knows where his loyalties lie: with his family, with his blood. He would never have 'switched sides.' His mother wouldn't have allowed it."

"But that's why he agreed to help us," said Arthur, looking at Lucius. "Voldemort killed Narcissa."

A cold numbness spread through his body and down to his legs. He fell back into his chair. His wife was dead? He had thought she would be safe. She knew how to stay out of harm's way. She had never been directly involved with any of the Dark Lord's plans. Certainly, she had _known_ things, but she had never _done_ things -- an important distinction.

Narcissa was gone. The idea of it was going to drown him, so he pushed it out of his mind, focusing instead on his son. "Tell me more about Draco."

Arthur looked up at the ceiling. "He showed up at the door one night. He told us that he could no longer support the cause of a lunatic half-blood and was seeking asylum. I suppose he had done some research on his own and discovered the truth about Voldemort's parentage. I'll bet you didn't know that his father was a Muggle, did you?"

Lucius said nothing. The Potter boy had told him, but of course he hadn't believed him, just as he didn't believe Arthur now.

"Harry was the only one who trusted him," Arthur continued. "He said there was good in Draco, it was just hidden by the lies of his -- well, by _your_ lies. I guess he was right, because Draco helped Harry kill Voldemort. I don't know the details -- no one does except for them."

Lucius could not speak. Arthur appeared to take this as a signal to keep talking.

"They were inseparable after that. I thought they were just good friends. Then one day, I opened a door and … Draco was tied to the bed, naked and spread open. Harry was fucking him so hard that the paintings on the wall were rattling. I didn't know what to do. For a moment, I thought that Harry was hurting him. Then I heard Draco moaning. He said, 'Oh God yes, Harry. Fuck me harder,' and Harry said something I couldn't understand. I think it was in Parseltongue. Draco started chanting, 'I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours.' Then I shut the door and went back downstairs."

The candid, unembarrassed manner in which Arthur spoke of Lucius' son being sodomized was unnerving.

"It wasn't until a few years later that they broke the news to everyone. It's the only time in my life I've been ahead of the gossip curve. The _Prophet_ had a field day. But after a time, everything settled back to normal. They're still together. I have dinner with them sometimes, at their flat. I've never known a couple more in love."

This was all too much. Not only had Draco gotten involved with Harry Potter, he had also helped defeat the wizard who should have been his master. Lucius refused to believe it. No matter what the Dark Lord had done -- thoughts of Narcissa welled up in his mind and he squashed them down -- he would not have strayed from the cause.

"I know my son," said Lucius slowly. "Everything he has done has been for a reason. Restoring the Malfoy name, perhaps, or working towards securing my release."

"I don't think so," said Arthur. "Last month, he donated the entirety of the Malfoy estate to the Ministry to help finance the ongoing post-war reconstruction. And last week, he changed his name. He's no longer a Malfoy."

Lucius closed his eyes. No.

"I think Draco Black has a nice ring to it."

That was it. Outrage boiled through Lucius. "My family name was too sullied for him, but the Black name wasn't? His mother raised him as much as I did. That ungrateful little--"

"His mother died protecting him," Arthur said. Lucius listened as Arthur told him of Draco's assignment to kill Dumbledore, Narcissa's Unbreakable Oath with Severus, and Draco's failure.

"Why would the Dark Lord--" Something in Lucius' head hurt. Or maybe it was in his chest. "He wanted Draco to fail. That _bastard_."

"You sound like Draco," said Arthur. "He never calls Voldemort by any name, just calls him 'that bastard.' He used to call him 'that half-blooded bastard' but Harry didn't like that, so he stopped."

"Enough. The Dark Lord was a pure-blooded wizard. He was powerful -- more powerful than any half-blood could ever have been."

"Oh, but he wasn't a pureblood. There was a big article about him once he died," said Arthur. "Everybody knows." He blathered on, filling in more and more details. Too much of the story made sense. Lucius had no choice to believe him.

He had been duped. He had wasted his life in the service of a fraud. His wife was dead because of it, and his son had ceased to be his son. What would he do with his life? He closed his eyes and imagined the long years ahead, holed up in a house high in the mountains in some wasteland of a country. Alone. How was that any better than being here? It was worse, because out there he would have his memories.

He could just go back to his cell. Without a mind, would any of this matter?

Or he could go one step beyond that: not just without a mind, but without a body as well.

He looked at Arthur. It was right that he would lose another son. Lucius had already lost his. He stood and walked slowly towards Arthur. He handed over the wand; he no longer needed it.

"Cast the Killing Curse on me."

Arthur opened his mouth to obey.

Lucius thought of Narcissa and was sad. He thought of Draco and was angry. He heard the words spoken; how odd to hear them spoken at him.

Arthur began to lower his wand and then froze as time slowed to an imperceptible crawl.

Lucius' life appeared before him like a topographic map. He traced its contours and understood his failures. He saw Draco. His anger left him.

The room disappeared, and now he could see only green.

A shape appeared against the brightness: a rectangle of blackness, a doorway into the unknown. Lucius wondered what would happen if he went through that door and into the nothingness.

The green closed in on him. He had no choice. He stepped through the door and was gone.


End file.
